After a Season of Real Hope, Fans Share the Pain of Defeat
20-10 Loss to Seahawks Ends Weeks of Camaraderie for 12 Friends
Redskins fans Steve Hadeed, left, Damon Morton and Dave Ghahhari react to a play during the playoff game between the Seahawks and the Redskins. Hadeed keeps a 10-year-old piece of sod from RFK Stadium to bring good luck.
(By Nikki Kahn -- The Washington Post)
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Sunday, January 15, 2006
With 4 minutes, 31 seconds left in the Redskins game yesterday, Mike Crutchfield let it go -- a sigh of exhaustion, a loss of hope, a season conceded. "That's the game. Missed tackles," the lumberyard worker said quietly, sitting on a sofa in a room surrounded by 11 friends in Silver Spring.
Throughout the Washington area last night, Redskins fans gathered and rode roller coasters of emotions, crashed into deep sadness and finally reflected on the season that had just ended. That certainly happened at the Silver Spring house.
"We can't be mad about it. We were five and six," Crutchfield said a few moments later, rationalizing that his team had improved during the year after six losses. He stood up and walked to the back deck to smoke a cigarette in the lightly falling snow.
Just then, the Redskins completed a long pass to Santana Moss. Rudy Crutchfield, Mike's cousin, jumped from his seat, which was an orange plastic stadium chair that a friend was believed to have ripped out of Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium 10 years ago, after the final Redskins game there. The friend had brought it by for good luck.
"We're still good! We're still good! We're not done!" Rudy Crutchfield yelled. Several plays later, he appeared to be right.
Another long pass hung in the air.
"Touchdown, baby!" Rudy Crutchfield yelled.
But a Seattle player knocked the ball away, and it fell to the ground.
"Interference!" yelled Kamer Ozkayan, 36. But no penalty was called. "You got to be kidding me!" Ozkayan yelled.
A minute later it was over. The game. The season. The hopes and dreams and longings and desires of the guys sitting on sofas.
A core of four of them had known each other for about 20 years since their days at Wheaton High School. They still gather for flag football games.
One black, one white, one the son of an Iranian father and American mother, the other born in Turkey. For days, they'd been talking up the game, confident they were going to win.
